Murmur [Deluxe Edition]

The legendary band reissues and remasters its debut, and still arguably best, album, adding a bonus disc that marks the first time a full R.E.M. show has been released on CD

One of the talking points about R.E.M.-- one of the traits listed to distinguish them from many other bands of the 1980s, mainstream or otherwise-- was their stringent democracy. Each member received equal songwriting credit on each track on each album, and reportedly each member not only had equal voice in decisions, but the band would do nothing unless everyone agreed unanimously. Theirs was a "unique four-person democracy that in practice maximalized the talents and insights of four people rather than just one leader calling the shots," writes I.R.S. Records co-founder Jay Boberg in the liners for this new 2xCD reissue of Murmur, the band's first and best full-length. When the band triumphed, all of its members shared the acclaim; when it failed, everyone shouldered the blame. This was an atypical business model, but R.E.M. displayed a seemingly contradictory mix of egolessness and ambition. The group pointedly didn't appear on its album covers or inner sleeves; instead, R.E.M. remained confident that a kudzu-covered ravine or a folk-art painting could speak more strongly about their music than their own presence ever could.

Coupled with that air of mystery, R.E.M.'s practical democracy simultaneously stemmed from and extended to their music. They treated each instrument as essentially equal: Bill Berry's no-fills drums, Peter Buck's spiky guitar, Mike Mills' melodic bass, and Michael Stipe's grainy voice. Because these elements were characters in an equally weighted exchange, the remastering on this version of Murmur (overseen by Greg Calbi) makes it more than simply an anniversary repackaging, but a careful reconsideration that not only changes the lines of dialogue, but alters the entire conversation. Every unique strike of Berry's high-hat and snare becomes discernible, giving his rhythms greater urgency and force. Likewise, Mills' bass gets lower and richer, and his keyboard adds intricate textures to these songs: "Pilgrimage" is layered with reverberating low-end piano and vibraphone, and his honkytonk piano gives "Shaking Through" its country transcendence. Mills' backing vocals are emphasized to reinforce their point-counterpoint interplay with Stipe on "Radio Free Europe" and "West of the Fields". This new remaster doesn't throw off the band's equilibrium: The instruments are somehow now sound even more equal.

It does, however, shift the discussion slightly away from some of the typical influences ascribed to the band-- namely, the Byrds-- and toward the more strident sounds of British postpunk acts like PiL and Gang of Four, whom the band has cited as part of their inspiration but are often overlooked. This dimension of their sound is most apparent in Buck's fretwork; sure, it jangles, but that term has lost some of its evocative sheen through overuse. His guitar also chimes and shuffles and burrs and bellows its way through Murmur, giving "9-9" and "West of the Fields" their jitteriness.

Stipe sing-speaks aggressively through the former but, fortunately, the remaster does nothing to elucidate his vocals. No longer the mumbler heard on the Chronic Town EP, he enunciates more clearly on Murmur, yet there remains an unpracticed quality to his performance. Stipe switches between a wordless careen and a precise croon, reaching into his upper register on "Radio Free Europe" and into his lower on "Catapult". He indulges a slight yodel on "Moral Kiosk" and ends "We Walk" with a strange hiccup. Over the course of the album, his slur is more pronounced but still inscrutable, and he covers his lyrics in layers of ambiguity.

There's a historical component to Murmur that often gets lost: In 1983, R.E.M. sounded unique. No bands were combining these particular influences in this particular way, which made this debut sound not only new but even subversive: a sharp reimagining of rock tropes. Twenty-five years and 14 albums later, our familiarity with R.E.M. means that Murmur has lost some of what made it revolutionary upon release. Fortunately, rather than collecting obligatory bonus tracks and outtakes-- most of which would have overlapped with Dead Letter Office-- the set includes a second disc documenting a show in Toronto from July 1983, just after the album's release. It marks the first time a full R.E.M. show has been released on CD (LIVE, from 2007, was culled from two nights in Dublin), and judging by the intensity with which the band run through old and then-new songs, it could have held its own as a separate release.

It's startling to hear some of these songs stripped down to their four basic elements, with no keyboard or guitar overdubs. Likewise, it's a bit odd to hear only polite applause after "7 Chinese Brothers", which would appear on Reckoning a year later, and surprising to hear people scream for "Boxcars" and a cover of the Velvet Underground's "There She Goes Again" (which they play) and especially "Shaking Through" (which they don't). Live, Stipe deploys an even wider arsenal of vocal tics: vamping on "Just a Touch", growling the chorus of "Talk About the Passion", and sing-speaking through a jaw-dropping "9-9", all while Mills' backing vocals soar overheard and Buck's guitar chimes reliably on every song. Because they were known primarily as a live band, and because they built their identity as such when the industry avenues of promotion failed them, this live disc, much like the remaster, goes a long way toward re-creating for listeners the context in which R.E.M. introduced themselves and making these familiar songs once again excitingly unfamiliar.